Bar Room Blitz
by Faux Promises
Summary: Scout's fried chicken seduction doesn't quite work out for him, but damned if that's how he's going to remember it happened. One-shot, classic Scout.


**A/N: **Sorry, it had to be done. Based on some comments floating around the interwebs. :P

x x x

When the Scout arrived at work that morning with a black eye, the smart-ass comments were in no short supply.

This was, in fact, probably the third or fourth time it had happened since they had been stationed at Teufort the previous month.

The Heavy had been the first to make a sound as Scout walked into the resupply room where some of the mercenaries were depositing their personal items (for Pyro, this included a pink purse filled entirely with various lighters). It was more of a low chuckle, and the youngest mercenary could be seen squinting in annoyance at the implication—which, in turn, caused him pain that he seemed to have forgotten about for a brief moment.

"Having trouble with the cap on the toothpaste again, Scout?"

It had come from the corner of the room where the Spy was gingerly smoking a cigarette as he waited on his teammates.

The Scout whipped his head around from the locker that he had stuffed some of his belongings in. His glare was deadpan at best.

"Oh haha, very funny." He shrugged, one foot kicking at the ground in agitation. "Like your candy ass could have dealt with the kind of weekend I had. See, this big dude-"

The Heavy and Sniper exchanged meaningful looks at this point. Everyone knew to evacuate the room immediately when Scout, or on occasion Soldier, launched into one of their lengthy tales. Avoid eye contact, move slowly, and bank on a distraction.

Spy, on the other hand, had been trapped into a conversation. He rolled his eyes visibly.

"Nononono—_five _big dudes. And one of 'em had a knife. So I grabbed a barstool, right? And-"

x x x

Exactly one day prior, Scout was standing in line at his favorite chicken restaurant. His mother used to feed his family that stuff like, _every single day of the week_ sometimes, when money was tight. Which, when there were eight mouths to feed on one income, happened to be pretty damn often.

So, maybe he hadn't exactly outgrown all of his habits.

Or any of them, really, because as soon as he spotted a woman approximately his age approaching the counter to pick up her food, his feet were already taking him over to engage her in conversation.

"You need any help with that?" he asked faux-casually, subconsciously puffing himself out a bit. His unchanging scrawny appearance had never done much for him in this department. "Like, that's a big bucket, y'know? And-"

She stared blankly at him, apparently not too impressed.

"Aw, screw it. You got chicken, I got chicken. We're practically made for each other. So, how 'bout we do it?"

He noticed that she cast a glance over at the table in the corner, but didn't pay much regard to it as she answered with what he already anticipated would be some disgusted comment.

"Eh, okay. I got some time to kill." She shrugged, hefting the bucket into her other hand. "Alright with you, Romeo, if we eat first?"

The Scout, in all his intellectual glory, was still a few pages behind in the conversation. She had said yes? Since when did white trash pickup lines actually work, much less for him?

He decided not to question fate as she led him over to a table by his arm. She was eating long before he even gave it a thought, and for some reason kept glancing over at the door. It probably would have made him nervous under any other circumstances, but hey, he was gonna get laid! Who the hell cared about the rest of it.

"'Ey, Roxie! What's taking so damn long with the food?" The voice paused before becoming distinctly angier. "And who the _hell_ is this loser?"

The tone of the voice that said this caused the Scout to instantly whip his head around to the door. What he saw paled him a few shades; a large man with tattoos decorating every part of his body, muscles that absolutely dwarfed his own, clad in leather. A biker, of course.

Indignant, the woman whose name he hadn't even bothered to ask cast a disinterested glance at the door. "I dunno, Roy, maybe I _won't_ be goin' home with you tonight, huh? Ever think of that when you're yellin' at me to go get your chicken, asshole?"

"I got this sweetie to keep me company for now, isn't that right?" She had stood up now, throwing her arms somewhat half-heartedly around him. Torn between the beginnings of fear for his own safety and his libido, the Scout only managed an embarrassing flush of red as the woman thrust her chest into the side of his head. He couldn't tell if he was achieving his intended goals or not.

The biker fixed his gaze on the lankier man, who was easily outclassed as far as a fist fight. He supposed he probably could beat the man if he managed to get hold of an impromptu weapon. Maybe the chicken.

He didn't have much time to contemplate it as a fist narrowly sailed above his head.

x x x

"But I mean, y'should've seen the other guy? Ya know? Right?"

The Spy was a few moments away from putting his cigarette out in the younger man's eye, after listening to a mostly fictitious bar fight story that would have made Patrick Swayze blush.

"So you lost a fight with someone's boyfriend again, right?"

A beat passed. "Aw, no, of course not! The hell are you talkin' about? I mean, look at me. I got the _goods_."

He flexed to accompany this statement, only to release flatulence that he pretended not to notice.

"Where was it this time? The taco place? Or that Chinese buffet just off the interstate again?"

But it was too late, and thankfully the Scout had already latched on to Sniper for another round, who had the misfortune of returning to the room for a different choice of rifle.

"Sniper, man! Did you hear about how I took out like, _half _of the Russian mafia last night?"

And so it was another typical Monday for RED team. The Spy made sure to throw the Sniper a smug look behind the Scout's back as he made his way out to the battlefield.

* * *

**A/N: **I have this weird feeling that every chance Scout has to get laid, he either obfuscates it for himself, or it somehow just goes wrong for him in general. The general reaction on Facepunch was that he was imagining it, but I thought this option was more amusing.

Spot the references?


End file.
